


Fireworks

by pawsdash



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Fireworks, Fluff and Angst, Fourth of July, Hurt Steve Rogers, I Tried, I'm Sorry, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 18:57:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawsdash/pseuds/pawsdash
Summary: How lucky, Tony thought, that New York could hear those thunderous claps and be assured that they were only fireworks.





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooooo! So this is my first work in a while- I've been having lots of ideas for fanfics and never finishing them. This came to me while, surprise, I was watching fireworks. A disclaimer: this is not supposed to be representative of everyone with PTSD and is only from my own experiences and relationships with people who have experienced PTSD. Hope you all enjoy!!
> 
> Trigger warnings: this fic centres around Steve having a PTSD episode due to the sounds of fireworks, bringing him back to his memories of war. Features relative fluff and comfort, but nothing is quite resolved in an effort to remain as realistic and non-romanticizing as possible. So if you're not ready for a kind-of-sad, angst drabble, you might want to skip over this.

Tony wished that he would have been more prepared for this moment. If only he had remembered what came on the eve of the Fourth of July, he would have fixed some sort of otherworldly gadget that would have made Steve Jobs roll in his grave. Instead, he was left to curse himself silently, a feeling of dread and guilt winding up inside of his chest. He swallowed down the tight knot in his throat, running his palm gently over sandy-blonde strands which had been so tangled that even his best efforts to tame the mess would have been futile. If Tony would have known, he would have made _something,_ done _something_ that would comfort his lover- but instead he sat helpless with America’s sweetheart in his lap.

The window adjacent to the bed stared out into the merry night, looking down from their lofty bedroom and down to the streets of New York. They were far too high up to catch a proper glimpse, but Tony could imagine that children were clinging close to their mothers, maybe even hoisted up onto their fathers’ shoulders as they stared up into the sky. A flash, then their little beaming faces lit up all blue and green and gold. A shot, then Steve curled tighter into the bedsheets. 

“Shh,” Tony murmured, his hand continuing to smooth over Steve’s cheekbone where a thin layer of sweat reflected a shimmering of red. “I’m here, baby, okay? I’m here.”

Tony’s chest was a rattling firework in itself, an anxious mess of emotions which threatened to set fire. He could have moved Steve down to the workshop where the noise- gunshots, in Steve’s mind- would have been relatively quieter. However, by the time that Tony had calmed the significantly larger man, he was far too terrified to move even an inch. Firework shows didn’t last too long, right? But this night felt as though it had gone on for hours; New York City had really outdone herself this year. He couldn’t help but find it ironic and oh-so-true that Captain America, along with so many other troops on this evening, were curled in their bedsheets while the rest of America celebrated. How lucky, he thought, that they could hear those claps and be assured that they were only fireworks.

Usually, it was Tony having these flashbacks- not in the same way, though. For Tony, it was moreso words or images that would send him into a mess of heavy-breathing; a tub of water, a comment from a journalist. But for Steve, the _pop-pop_ of the firecrackers outside were a series of terrifying reminders. He wore boxers and a loose t-shirt, though the shirt had been nearly soaked through with fear. His fingers were white-knuckled in the sheets, body tensed as if to keep himself grounded. Tony continued to smooth his hands over Steve’s skin, simply hoping that it would help to ground the other. He sat cross-legged with Steve’s head in his lap, pulling up the covers around the larger torso.

“It’s fireworks, Steve,” Tony whispered for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Fireworks, see? Look,” he gestured, gently tilting Steve’s head to look out the window. The pools of blue reflected back sparkling gold. “We’re in New York, in our room. It’s me, capsicle, it’s me.” He leaned down and pressed a series of quick kisses to the man’s forehead, sucking in a shaking breath and swiping a hand over his own cheeks. 

Finally, the sky was an abyss again with remnants of smoke floating among the smog and layers of shit which kept New York City from the stars. Cheering began, a roar so loud that it was heard even from their position so high up. It persisted for what felt like minutes, then died down until it was inaudible to them once again. Tony said nothing, allowing the silence to lull Steve back into reality. The shuddering breaths that wracked the man’s ribcage remained ragged, but began to lengthen as adrenaline slowly leaked out from the supersoldier’s body. Tony breathed his own sigh of relief, eyes falling closed.

“War’s over, Cap,” he smiled gently, as much as he could smile in such a case. Steve’s eyes remained firmly closed despite his efforts. “Hey,” Tony tried again, nudging the broad shoulder. “Breathe for me, alright, winghead?”

“Tony?” came the small voice, almost far too small to have come from such a large man. Steve remained gazing out into the night sky, glassy and far-off looking. “Is it over?”

“It’s over,” Tony assured him, pretending that he didn’t notice Steve’s sputtering breaths transforming into sobs that he tried to force back. “You did it, Rogers, it wasn’t real.” 

“It was real,” Steve murmured softly, sniffing pitifully. His hands came up to swipe away at his tears. “It was real.” 

Tony drew in a deep breath and released it as a sigh, thumb drawing over Steve’s cheekbone comfortingly. “I know,” he said simply, reaching down to lace their hands together. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Steve responded, bringing their clasped hands to his cheek. Tony slowed his breathing to match that of Steve’s soft and gentle air against the back of his palm. “They’re dying everywhere, Tony. It doesn’t stop.” Despite his refusal to talk about his episode, he seemed to have a deal of words which refused to come out in an orderly fashion. To Tony, his words might as well have been gibberish, though he tried to understand.

“It’s okay,” Tony murmured, wishing that Steve would meet his gaze if only for a moment. “Well, it doesn’t feel okay now, but it will be okay. I’ve got you, Cap.” 

“I know,” Steve whispered, closing his eyes. The fireworks had stopped and instead, it was the sparkle of city lights which shone against Steve’s pale skin. 

How lucky, Tony thought, were all of those people. 


End file.
